


cherry wine

by localswordlesbian



Series: tma university au adventures [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, College, Fluff, Gay, Gay Male Character, Happy Ending, He/Him and They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jon is in a band, M/M, No beta we kayak like Tim, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Gerard Keay, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Panic Attacks, Pining Martin Blackwood, Social Anxiety, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin, Trans Martin Blackwood, University, all pronouns for gerard keay, it's my tma fic and i get to choose the projection, martin blackwood has anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localswordlesbian/pseuds/localswordlesbian
Summary: Tim and Sasha manage to convince Martin to meet their friends, and it takes one request from Jon to get him to go out with them to watch Jon's band perform
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: tma university au adventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185023
Comments: 4
Kudos: 100





	cherry wine

**Author's Note:**

> cw for a panic attack

“You should come! It’ll be fun.”

Martin glared up from his computer to see Tim dangling upside down from his bed, his hair brushing the floor while Martin sat at his desk. “You know parties aren’t my thing. Neither are student bars.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You say that, though I think you’ll actually really like it. We’ll even get all dressed up and everything.”

Martin sighed. “You know how I get in crowds, Tim. I’m physically incapable of having a good time.”

Tim pursed his lips as though considering this. “Look,” he said finally. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But you can’t just sit in here all the time, wishing you’d gone out! I know you, Martin. One day, when we’re all old in our rocking chairs, sick to death of each other, you’re going to regret not going out and experiencing more.”

“More panic attacks, you mean.”

Tim was quiet for a moment. “If you’re sure, I’m not going to push. I just don’t want you to feel like you _can’t_ have a good time.”

Martin offered him a smile. He wanted to go, he really did, but he knew if he did his heart would race and his lungs would refuse to take in the right amount of air – crowds didn’t do nice things for him. “I know.” He considered. “Tell you what. If this band that Melanie’s joined is any good, I promise I’ll go next time. You give me the verdict, and I’ll go.”

Tim barked a laugh. “Sometimes I forget how much of a bitch you can be,” he laughed affectionately, and Martin snickered. “Deal. I’m going to hold you to that.” Still hanging from Martin’s bed, he held out a fist.

Martin gave him a fist bump in return before turning back to his work. He stared at the screen, eyes not really seeing the words he’d been typing. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go out with all of his friends – he knew how much fun they had when they went out, and he knew how much they wanted him to join them, but even the mere thought of that many people, pressing against him and shoving him from room to room while they all tried to get somewhere when there was barely room to breathe was almost enough to send him into a spiral.

“Hey,” Tim said from behind him, and Martin turned to see him sitting, right side up, on the edge of the mattress. “When you come next time, we’ll make sure it’s not too crowded. Sound good?”

Martin smiled. “Yeah, sounds good.”

~

Sasha came around their flat nearly every day, either to study, get ready to go out, or sit on Tim and Martin’s tattered couch and watch movies into the ungodly hours of the morning. Martin smiled as she poked her head into his room, her makeup done in reds and golds. She was dressed in overalls and a striped turtleneck, and she was beaming at him. “Not coming tonight?”

Martin shook his head ruefully. “No, not tonight.”

“Tim said you promised you’d come next time if they’re good.”

Martin laughed. “Tattletale!” he shouted across the flat.

“Rude!” came Tim’s muffled response, and Martin and Sasha shared a chuckle.

Martin sighed. “Yeah. Just not feeling up to it tonight.”

A lie, one that Sasha saw through immediately. Stepping into the room, she perched on the edge of Martin’s desk. “You know, you could always come. See if the band’s any good for yourself,” she added with a wink.

Martin considered. “I don’t know. I don’t want to drag you guys down if– if it ends up being too much for me.”

Sasha clucked her tongue, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Bullshit. You’ve never once dragged us down. If anything, Tim’s more likely to get one too many beers in him and make me hold his hair while he loses his dinner.” Martin groaned and Sasha cackled. “You’re not a burden, Martin. You never have been, and never will be.”

Martin gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Sasha.”

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Anytime. The others will be here any minute, and they’re bringing some new people.”

“Oh? Who’s coming?”

“Melanie said she’d bring the band over and we’d all head to the pub together. Plus we finally get to meet her new girlfriend, and they’re bringing two other friends.”

“Sounds like it’ll be quite the party.”

Sasha studied him. “Okay, come on. Even if you don’t go, you’re getting dressed nice to meet them.”

Martin sputtered as Sasha stood, bounding over to his wardrobe and throwing it open. “Sasha, really, it’s fine–“

“Shush,” his friend silenced him as she pulled his favourite pair of overalls from the closet. She surveyed the mess of clothes for a moment longer before diving in, pulling out a lilac shirt that Martin rarely wore. “You’re meeting new people who might be joining our friend group, and if you make your first impression wearing that–“ she gestured to his old high school hoodie and grey sweatpants. “–it’s going to eat at you for a long, long time.”

“You know, sometimes I hate how well you know me.”

“You love it!”

Sasha turned dutifully toward the door while Martin changed his outfit, feeling ridiculous getting dressed up only to be going nowhere, but he knew Sasha was right – if he met these new people and they became friends, he’d never let himself forget it if he was dressed like a university student in the middle of a finals season-induced mental breakdown.

Which, he was. But that was beside the point.

Once he was done, Sasha jumped and clapped her hands. “Perfect! You look so cute!” Martin blushed as Sasha rummaged through his desk drawers. “Now, makeup.”

Martin sat obediently as his friend smeared eyeshadow onto his eyelids, drawing winged eyeliner and nearly poking his eye out with the mascara wand. If he was being honest with himself, he liked it when his friends dragged him out of his shell and made him do silly stuff like this, made him dress up and do his makeup. He knew he didn’t do it often enough for himself.

A knock on the door came a second before Tim poked his head in. “Ready to– damn, Marto! You look fantastic.”

Martin felt his cheeks go pink, and Sasha beamed with pride. “Thanks. Though it’s all Sasha’s doing, really.”

Sasha waved him away. “Shush, the good looks are all you.” Before Martin could stutter out a protest, the doorbell rang aggressively through the flat. “They’re here!”

Tim and Sasha bounded away, Sasha throwing a “Come on!” over her shoulder as she went to greet their friends. Before he followed, Martin took a look in the mirror.

He _did_ look good, his curls falling over his forehead, his eyes brought out by the dark makeup and his black overalls contrasting the lilac shirt. He thought about early in his transition, when he wouldn’t have dared to wear anything like this in public for fear of being seen as a girl. Now, though, he grinned at the man in the mirror, feeling elated. He took a second to pose – hands on his hips and smile on his face before he leaves his room to greet whoever is in his living room.

He first saw Tim when he emerged, perched on the arm of the couch and chatting away with a man Martin had never seen before – long black hair with red roots growing in, a black trench coat over a black shirt and black jeans, black boots, and eye tattoos over each joint of his fingers. A cigarette dangles from two of those fingers, though Martin was relieved to see that it didn't seem to be lit and there was no lighter in sight.

Next to him was Melanie, who didn’t appear to notice Martin yet – too caught up in conversation with who Martin assumed was her new girlfriend. She was dark skinned, with rings adorning each of her fingers and wearing an orange dress under a jean jacket that was covered in paint and patches. She had a bandana holding back curly black hair and she had a friendly demeanour about her. Martin immediately liked her.

Next to her was Sasha, who was talking to a man perched on the other arm of the couch. The man was scrawny and short, but his presence in the room wasn’t. His long brown hair was pulled back in a braid and his brown skin was marked with vitiligo; he was dressed in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, and Martin had a singular thought in his head as he looked at him.

_Holy shit._

“Martin!” Tim exclaimed, and Martin ripped his eyes away from the man and toward his friend, who had stood up and was walking towards him. He smiled as Tim threw an arm over his shoulders and guided him over to the party in the living room. “Y’all, this is my flatmate, Martin.”

“Don’t say y’all, Tim,” the goth-looking man said. “You sound like the kind of Brit the Americans make fun of.”

“No one gets mad at Sasha for saying it!”

“That’s because we like Sasha,” Melanie snickered.

Everyone cackled as Tim shot everyone faux betrayed looks. “I cannot believe how unappreciated I am.”

Martin laughed. “I appreciate you, Tim. Especially when you actually clean the bathroom when it’s your turn.”

The goth man whooped loudly as everyone else laughed, and Martin felt his cheeks warm with pride that he managed to make people laugh. The man on the couch offered him a lazy grin. “You’re already funnier than Tim, and I just met you. I’m Gerry. Gerry Delano” he said, ignoring Tim’s offended sniff.

The girl who Martin assumed to be Melanie’s girlfriend leaned forward, a grin on her face. “I second that. I’m Georgie.”

Martin nodded in acknowledgement, feeling that telltale awkwardness he always felt meeting new people – Tim had already introduced him, so he had nothing to say. He simply nodded and offered her a smile, and that thankfully seemed to be enough for Georgie.

Martin turned to the last stranger in the room, the thin man in the leather jacket. He offered Martin a curt nod. “Jon.”

Martin returned the nod, a blush creeping up his cheeks as Jon seemed to take in his appearance, eyes running up and down Martin’s outfit before settling once again on his face. “Are you joining us tonight?”

Martin froze. He couldn’t say no now, could he? Jon was still looking at him, those hazel eyes impassive and inquisitive, and all Martin could do was nod. Jon nodded in response, turning back to his conversation with Sasha, and Martin tore his gaze away, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Tim standing behind him. He expected a knowing grin to be plastered onto his face – Tim could read Martin’s expressions like a book – but instead he just had a calming smile. “We’ve got you,” he whispered.

Martin nodded. His face was burning, and he knew every inch of exposed skin above the neckline of his shirt was the colour of a tomato. Considering he’d agreed to attend a concert at a student pub just because a cute guy had asked him whether he was coming, he could safely conclude that he really was a hopeless fool.

Still holding an arm around Martin’s shoulders, Tim led him over to where the goth man, Gerry, was sitting. He gave Martin a small smile as he approached. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Martin replied, taking in his appearance in more detail now that he was standing closer. He was pale, with brown eyes and long eyelashes. His trench coat was covered in pins and patches; a pink, purple, and blue ribbon, three separate pronoun pins – he/him, she/her, and they/them – a patch reading _The Binary is Bullshit_ , a red _Hell: Admit One_ patch, and several more that Martin couldn’t read without his lingering gaze feeling weird. “Tim’s told us a lot about you.”

Martin blinked. “Oh,” he said dumbly, scratching the back of his neck absentmindedly.

Tim nudged him. “Don’t worry, all good things.”

Gerry laughed. “All very good things. He tells us you’re a psych major?”

“Ah, yeah. Psych major, Lit minor. Career councillors in high school loved to tell me I should go into some sort of therapy profession. That or teaching.”

Gerry nodded sagely. “I could see you as a teacher. Specifically that one English teacher that’s a _little_ too passionate about Shakespeare that all the queer kids flock to because they have daddy issues.”

Tim barked a laugh. “That really is a universal experience, isn’t it?”

“Oh you absolutely know it is. English teachers are the mother ducks of high school for all the rejected kids.”

Martin smiled. “Yeah, they really were. What’s your major?”

“Theatre and Lit double major.”

“Oh, so insufferable.”

Martin clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as the words were out, his heart already kicking into overdrive as he realized _oh my god I just said that to an actual human being_ as Tim and Gerry both burst out laughing. The others turned to them as Tim struggled to catch his breath and Gerry wheezed with laugher.

“I am so sorry–“ Martin began, his face burning with embarrassment. What was _wrong_ with him?

Gerry waved a hand at him, finally calming down enough to speak. “No, no you’re good. You’re not wrong in the slightest, my wonderful flatmate can attest to that.” They gestured to Jon, who rolled his eyes.

“Attested.” Jon’s voice was laden with annoyance, but his lips were curled up in a slight smile. If Martin wasn’t already beet red from embarrassment, he would have blushed at the sight.

Georgie grinned. “To be fair, I don’t think there’s a person in this room Jon isn’t a little bit annoyed with all the time. Well, except maybe Martin, but that’s only because you’ve just met.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is.”

Sasha laughed. “It is true, Jon. You can be quite irritable when you want to be.”

Jon mumbled something under his breath and Georgie laughed, turning to Martin. “Don’t let him fool you – he acts prickly, but he’s a sweetheart.”

“I don’t appreciate you talking about me like I’m not here,” Jon chided.

Melanie stood, pocketing her phone as she went – her short blue hair swished around her face as she moved. “Come on, we’re going to be late. Daisy and Basira are gonna meet us there.”

There was the shuffling of bodies as people stood, grabbing instrument cases and phones and wallets as they made their way to the door. Martin hesitated, wondering if he should back out now, while there was still time. He’d already agreed, he knew that, but what was worse – backing out, or risking an anxiety attack in front of people he’d just met? The others moved for the door while he contemplated. They’d understand, wouldn’t they?

Though he couldn’t deny the part of him that didn’t _want_ to back out, that wanted to actually join his friends on a night out for once, to be a part of the fun instead of watching from the sidelines. He loved his friends, and Tim and Sasha and Melanie were always so patient with him. Plus, Gerry and Georgie seemed really nice and genuinely glad that he was coming along, interested in getting to know him.

Plus there was Jon, who he hadn’t even spoken to yet but was maybe the most attractive person Martin had seen in a while.

“Are you coming?”

Martin’s head snapped up to see Jon looking at him from the doorway – everyone else had piled out of the flat. Jon was looking at him directly, one hand clutching a guitar case over his shoulder, a hand that was, Martin noticed, adorned with henna. His hazel eyes seemed to stare into his soul, making Martin shiver.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I am.” He grabbed his wallet and keys from the kitchen counter before following Jon out of the flat.

~

It was a warm night in London as the group made their way to the pub on the furthest edge of campus. Martin and Jon brought up the back of the group, and Martin couldn’t decide whether to try and force a conversation to break the awkward silence, or whether that would only succeed in making the entire situation even more awkward.

He’d just decided that the awkward silence was better than awkward small talk when Jon spoke. “So you’re Tim’s flatmate?”

“Uh, yeah. Gerry mentioned he’s talked about me.”

Jon hummed, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of them and not looking at Martin. “A bit. Don’t worry, he hasn’t told us about your string of arson charges. I found out about those on my own.”

Martin barked out a surprised laugh, and Jon shot him a pleased smile. “Well, isn’t that a relief. Can’t let the fact that I almost started a fire in the library sully my reputation.”

Jon laughed, and Martin’s heart fluttered at the sound – he had a beautiful laugh, baritone, deep and throaty. “That may put a stain on it, yes.”

Martin chuckled. “What about you? What’s your crime of choice?”

Jon gave him an odd look, a grin still on his face. “You have an odd series of icebreakers, Martin.”

Martin huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well. Social situations aren’t really my strong suit, so if I can’t make it natural, I can make it intriguing.”

Jon considered this. “I’ve been told I’m pretty bad at social situations myself. Perhaps I should adopt some of your strategies.”

“You never answered my question.”

Jon thought for a moment, tilting his head towards the night sky. “Tax fraud. It’s subtle and it inconveniences the government.”

Martin cackled. “Lord knows they deserve it.”

“Indeed.”

They walked in silence for a while, though the silence was no longer awkward. Occasionally, Martin risked a glance at Jon, whose hands were shoved into his pockets and his eyes were on the road ahead. It was then that Martin noticed the pronoun pins on Jon’s jacket – he/him and they/them. _I’ll have to keep that in mind_ , he thought to himself, continuing to sneak glances at Jon. Once, when Martin looked over, their eyes locked, and they both looked away immediately. Martin’s face heated immediately – he hated being pale, hated how even the slightest blush was always visible – before he looked back and saw that Jon’s cheeks were clearly pink, too.

Martin shoved his hands into the pockets of his overalls, trying to fight a smile that was creeping its way onto his face. It had been a while since he’d fancied anybody, or since anyone had even caught his eye, and it felt _nice_ , if a little foreign. He knew once he got home, Tim and Sasha were going to tease him incessantly, but right now he savoured the moment of stealing glances at an attractive person that he was going to see a show with.

And that attractive person had been looking at him, too. Tim always said people checked him out, that he was just too daft to notice, and maybe that was true. Except now he’d seen it for himself, and a part of him wanted to reject it, call it impossible.

They reached the pub, and just the noise seeping from the doorway was almost enough to send Martin bolting right back to his flat. If it was this loud out here, it would definitely be much louder in there, and his heart was speeding up in anticipation.

Tim held the door open for everyone, and once Martin passed through Tim took his usual spot at his shoulder. Martin relaxed slightly, leaning into the familiar bulk of his friend, and there was an unspoken understanding between the two of them – _I’ve got you, nothing’s going to happen to you, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be._

The pub was as dingy as ever, made of wood as though it had once aimed for a rustic feel but years of sweat, dirt, and lack of funding had taken its toll. It wasn't as crowded as Martin had feared, though there was a decent group of students and they were progressively getting drunker. It was already almost ten in the evening, and Sasha broke off from the group to get them drinks while the band members made their way to the backstage area. Martin turned to say something to Jon, but he’d vanished.

_Oh_.

Tim noticed him looking and smirked, poking Martin’s side, causing him to let out an undignified squeak. “Yeah, Martin. Jon’s in the band.”

Martin glared, though he knew the effect was lessened by his pink cheeks. “Thank you for the update, Tim.”

Tim was grinning. “Cute, isn’t he.”

Martin chuckled. No use denying it. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

“Pretty sure they’re single, too.”

“Shut up, Tim.”

Tim laughed as Sasha walked up to them, two beers and a cider in her arms. She handed the cider to Martin and one of the beers to Tim, her eyebrows almost vanishing into her braids. “Are we teasing Martin about his crush on the boy in the band?”

Martin sputtered. “Oh come on! I’m not _that_ obvious, am I?” Sasha and Tim both looked unimpressed, so Martin barrelled on. “Besides, I do _not_ have a crush on them. I only just met him, what, an hour ago?”

Sasha took a sip of her beer and gave him a knowing look over the rim of her glass. “Yeah, and? When has that ever stopped you?”

Martin sputtered. “That’s not remotely the point!”

“Isn’t it, though?” Tim asked, nudging his shoulder. “Come on Martin, you do fancy them.”

“Who does Martin fancy?”

The three of them turned to see Basira walking toward them, dressed in a leather jacket, jeans, and a blue hijab. She took up a spot between Sasha and Martin, eyeing him up and down with an inquisitive smile on her face.

Martin scowled at Tim as he shot him an apologetic glance. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sasha, however, would give Martin no such curtesy. “Jon.”

He shot her a betrayed look as Basira looked at him quizzically. “Actually, makes sense. He is your type.”

“What does that mean?” Martin asked.

“Exhausted, smart yet loveable dumbass, and desperately needs taking care of. Checks all your boxes. Not to mention they’re in a band.”

Martin scowled. “And here I was thinking I was at least a little mysterious.”

Basira laughed. “Not even close. You’re an open book, Martin.”

“And we love you for it,” Tim added.

Sasha nodded sagely. “That we do.”

At the sound of a loud guitar strum, the four of them turned toward the stage, where Melanie and Georgie were setting up the guitar and drums. The familiar, muscular silhouette of Daisy stood on the opposite end of the stage, plugging in her bass, and a moment later Gerry emerged with a second guitar. People were turning their heads as Melanie strummed a few chords, the sound thrumming through the pub and reverberating off the walls. She had a confident smirk on her face, and Martin smiled at seeing his friend look so at home on that dingy old stage.

The four people on stage and exchanged a glance, and Gerry tapped a foot four times before the guitars kicked in, the bass thumping in the background as the drums crashed, keeping the beat to the rock melody assaulting their ears.

Then, the singer stepped onstage, and Martin forgot how to breathe.

Jon had let his hair out of his braid, and it spilled down to their waist as they stepped onstage, his boots loud against the wood. He grabbed the microphone, bringing it close to his mouth as he began to narrate, telling the story of a train, and Norse mythology, and Martin absorbed none of it. Their leather jacket hung off their skinny frame, but with their dramatic movements it didn’t look awkward, it simply followed their movements as they marched across the stage, belting a song about Odin, and Martin was surprised he was still standing.

He looked so _confident_ as he stomped around the stage, partway through ditching the letter jacket as sweat beaded across his hairline, plastering some strands of his dark brown hair to his face. His voice was gravely and deep, a smirk plastered to his face as he told the tale of the lost Bifrost.

By the time the set was over, Martin wasn't sure he’d breathed in the last hour. Feeling the tightness in his chest, he tried to take in a breath – it was slow and laborious, and he felt a panic begin to rise.

_Calm down, Martin, calm down calm down calm down–_

The inner chastising wasn’t helping, only making his heart pound more and making him more aware of how much he was panicking.

_God damnit you were doing so well, please not now,_ he thought, but it was useless as he felt his head start to go blank. The last thing he thought was _oh fuck_ before he could feel numbness spread through him.

Out, he needed to get out, the bodies all around pressing in on him, pushing him around as everyone’s voices echoed through the air. He wanted nothing more than for them to shut up, each word making him angrier as he clenched his fist. He needed quiet, he needed space, he needed air.

He moved away from his friends, Tim’s hand slipping from his shoulder. He met his gaze briefly, shaking his head once – he didn’t want company right now. Understanding, Tim nodded, and Martin slipped between people, his breath hitching and panic lancing through him each time he made contact with a person, until he cool night air finally hit his face.

He made his way to the side of the pub, sinking down onto the concrete sidewalk out of sight of the main road. He placed his head in his hands, positioning it between his knees, and tried to count his breaths. He focused on the ground beneath him, the brick behind him, his clothes on his skin, the biting cold of the air as it neared midnight.He kept his eyes squeezed shut, and strongly regretted leaving his headphones at home.

He didn’t know how long he sat there before feeling began to return to his fingers, his heart slowing to a pace that almost resembled normal. He took a deep breath, chilly air filling his lungs and feeling relieved that he was able to take a full breath of air.

Once Martin was feeling like a normal person again, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. There were messages from Tim, Sasha, and Basira, asking if he was okay. He answered them all, saying he was fine but that he was going to stay outside for a while. Tim told him they’d be inside talking to the others and watching the next set before everyone went back to their flat, so he could join them when he was ready.

Martin kept his eyes on the building in front of him, not feeling quite ready for the crowd just yet. He kept his breathing rhythmic and steady, closing his eyes and tilting his head up toward the stars.

“Are you alright?”

Martin’s eyes shot open at the sound of Jon’s voice, turning to see them standing next to him, concern in their eyes.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just got a little overwhelmed in there is all.”

Jon scrunched his eyebrows, and Martin couldn’t help thinking it was an adorable look on him. “I see. May I join you? Unless you’d rather be alone, everyone’s inside so–“

Martin shook his head, patting the cold concrete next to him. “I–I’d like the company.”

Jon nodded, standing there for a moment longer before plopping down next to Martin. They sat in silence for a few moments, their heads tilted up to the sky, where stars were visible despite all of London’s light pollution. They twinkled far above their heads, reaching up into a galaxy they’d never reach.

Martin knew it was cliche to love the stars, but he loved them anyway.

“What did you think?”

Martin turned at Jon’s question to find them looking at their feet, picking at their shoelaces. “Of what?”

“The set.”

“Oh,” Martin flushed. “Yeah. I mean, I liked it. A lot.” He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. “You’re really talented.”

He risked a glance at Jon, and his heart skipped when he saw a tiny smile on the man’s face. “I– thank you,” he stammered, a flush creeping up his neck. Martin smiled at the sight. “That– that means a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

They lapsed into silence again, and Jon began to fidget a bit.

“You know, you can go back inside if you want. You don’t have to stay out here for me,” Martin assured him.

Jon’s eyes shot up to meet his before they shook their head. “No, it’s okay. I like it out here.” They gave Martin a smile, and Martin’s heart skipped.

“O-okay. You just seemed a little uncomfortable.”

Jon shook his head. “It, ah, it’s a little quiet out here. That’s all.”

Realization dawned on Martin. “Oh, yeah. I forgot my headphones at home, so–“

“We could use mine?” At Martin’s nod, Jon dug around in the pocket of his leather jacket until he dug a pair of tangled white earbuds and cell phone out. He fought with the tangled wires, clearly getting more and more frustrated as the seconds ticked by.

Heaving an affectionate sigh, Martin reached over to take over. In doing so, he essentially placed his hands directly over Jon’s – Jon’s hands were slim, his fingers bony, and surprisingly warm. Jon’s hands froze, and Martin pried the headphones from them and got to work untangling them. He zeroed in his focus, threading the wires in and out of loops to get them out of their hopeless spiderweb of knots – finally, he stretched them out, placing one earbud in his left ear and handing the other to Jon.

Jon’s eyes were focused on Martin’s hands, though they lifted one of their own to take the earbud and place it in their ear. As they took it, their hand brushed Martin’s, and that warmth lanced through him again.

Once the earbuds were in place, Jon scrolled through his phone, seemingly searching for something. His scrolling became more frantic, and Martin was starting to get an idea of what he was doing. Tentatively reaching out, he placed one hand over Jon’s scrolling one, and Jon froze. “Just pick your favourite song,” Martin urged him. “I promise I won’t judge.”

Jon let out a breathy laugh. “Alright. I’m holding you to that.”

Martin held out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise.”

Jon smiled softly before hooking his own pinky around Martin’s. “Okay.” With that reassurance, he scrolled through his albums with an increased sense of confidence, selecting an album before closing his phone and leaning his head against the wall, his eyes closed and a tiny smile on his lips.

Martin kept watching Jon as a familiar smooth, deep voice filled his ears and he felt a smile creeping across his own face. “Hozier?”

Jon hummed an affirmation. “You listen to him?”

Martin snorted. “Come on, Jon. Have you ever met a gay person who _doesn’t_ listen to Hozier?”

Jon laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

They listened through a few songs, the strumming guitar of Cherry Wine filling Martin with a sense of peace as the two of them enjoyed the cold night, sharing earbuds and the music between them.

Jon turned on his phone and handed it to Martin. “Here, you pick something.”

Martin scrolled through Jon’s music library for a moment, feeling as though he was intruding on something, like he was flipping through a private photo album – music was something that could be so personal – though he did find exactly what he was looking for.

Pressing play, he watched Jon’s face to gauge his reaction. Sure enough, as soon as the words began, Jon grinned. “Ah, I seem to have encountered a romantic.”

Martin put his hands up in mock defeat, a grin plastered to his own face, too. “Hey, it was in _your_ music library.”

“And you picked Slow Dance by Saint Motel to be the first song that you like that I hear.”

“I just like it.”

“Hmm, sure.”

Martin slapped Jon’s arm lightly, and Jon chuckled. “It is a good song.”

“Thank you,” Martin said, feigning exasperation.

Martin did love this song, and he _was_ a romantic. He sometimes would lay in bed, imagining a scenario where he could sing this song to someone, horrible and off-key, but neither of them caring. The imagery of turning music to romance was something that stuck with Martin a lot.

Eventually, the two of them realized they’d been outside for much longer than anticipated, and a check at their phones told them the others had made their way back to Martin and Tim’s flat. They gathered themselves up, though they kept the earbuds in, always staying close and each queuing a song at a time for their walk back. The night air was even chillier than it had been when they left, and Martin noticed Jon rubbing their hands together and blowing on them in a poor attempt to keep them warm. Before he could think better of it, he took one of Jon’s hands in his own, meeting their shocked glance with a timid smile. Instead of pulling away, he squeezed Martin’s hand lightly – his hand was chilly, and small in Martin’s.

Another factor he hadn’t accounted for was the pressing of his binder into his ribs, which was becoming more and more obvious to him the longer he walked. Eventually he let out a hiss as he felt his spine crack, and Jon looked over at him in concern.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted. “Just my binder.”

Jon sighed. “Take it off when you get home. Wouldn’t want you having bruised ribs or anything.” He sounded genuinely concerned under the layer of awkwardness, and Martin smiled.

“Yeah, I know. I will.”

Despite the discomfort and the cold, Martin felt an odd sense of elation rising in his chest. He was holding hands with a cute person as they made their way back to his flat, where a group of their friends was waiting for them.

Jon only let go of Martin’s hand when he began to rummage in his pockets for the keys to the flat. As they headed inside, Jon’s hand reached out and grabbed Martin’s sleeve.

“I–would–hm.” He broke off, eyes glued to the floor. “I just–I wanted to ask–I wondered–“

“Jon?”

Jon took a deep breath before looking up and meeting Martin’s eyes. “Would you like to get together again? Soon, if you’re available.”

Martin smiled. “Of course, Jon.”

Jon’s smile lit up his whole face, and Martin couldn't help but grin. “Good, that’s good.”

“Now come on, before Tim starts some scandalous rumours about where we’ve been.”

They shared one last private laugh before Martin unlocked the door to the flat, and they were greeted by their friends, surrounded by laughter and banter and love, and Martin found himself glad he’d gone out tonight.

Tim and Sasha were right. He wasn’t a burden, and he’d even gotten a friend – perhaps something more, someday – out of it. As the group of them bickered over which movie to watch, relishing in the fact that it was Friday night and they didn’t have to worry about classes tomorrow, Martin sat back and smiled. _I love these idiots_ , he thought, and they loved him, too.

**Author's Note:**

> it's MY comfort character and i get to project my mental illness onto him!!  
> i had a lot of fun writing this, i'm obsessed with university au's so i had to write my own >:) i might turn this into a series  
> thanks to everyone who reads and comments on my fics! i love you all <3  
> ps i once again based martin's panic attack on my own symptoms and effects, cause that's how i know how to most accurately portray them, i know they're not universal but yeah


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